


Furisode

by evil_whimsey



Category: Ouran High School Host Club
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Futurefic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_whimsey/pseuds/evil_whimsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mori is dressed in women's kimono, smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Furisode

Arai was hauling the garbage to the dumpster behind the grocery, when he caught the faint shrilling of the downstairs telephone, indoors. Not sure how long it had been ringing, he raced back inside, through the storeroom, past the shelves, dusting his hands off on his apron, and skidding around to the back of the checkout counter.

"Good evening, Arai Grocery, Naoki speaking," he panted. "How can I help you?"  
"Naoki-kun, oh good, I caught you," answered a high soft tenor that Arai placed right away. "Oh I'm sorry, is this a bad time?"

"Ah, not at all," he smiled. "How's it going out there, Mitsukuni-san?"  
"Fine, everything's fine. The party was fine, and Tamaki-kun's friends were all very happy."

That was a lot of fine, Arai thought, grinning to himself. It sounded like Takashi hadn't needed to worry after all, about helping his old high school Host Club again. "So you're all finished now, I guess?"  
"Mm," Mitsukuni confirmed. "Everyone's getting ready to go home now."

"Oh, so Takashi's....going home, then?" Arai asked, wondering vaguely why Takashi himself hadn't called.  
"Er. Well, you see...." Mitsukuni trailed off for a second, and Arai frowned at the uncharacteristic hesitancy. "I was hoping I could ask you for a favor? For Takashi?"  
"Of course," Arai answered, not even having to think about it. "Is he all right? You need me to come pick him up?"

"Oh, no, no, no, Takashi's fine--." There was that fine again, and now Arai was feeling a tad apprehensive. "It's just that the party ran longer than we thought, and our plane's leaving soon, and since your shop is on the way, we hoped that--ah--we could drop him off."

"Well. Sure." Arai cocked his head, confused, but of course anything Takashi needed, he would do it.  
"Wonderful!" Mitsukuni said, and Arai could all but see him beaming. "Thank you so much for your help, truly, we'll see you soon, neh?"

And then he hung up, leaving Arai staring at the phone cradle, baffled. "Uh, yeah," he said to no one, before hanging his own phone up, and reaching back to untie his work apron.

He wondered if this would be one of those situations where Takashi might appreciate some tea, and decided to put some on just in case.

 

**

 

True to his word, Mitsukuni's long black car pulled up to the curb just as the kettle was coming to a boil on the hotplate. Arai hurriedly pulled it off, pouring it into the teapot, hearing the low purr of the car engine outside, and then rushed to unlock the grocery's front door.

The winter twilight had fallen quickly, and already it was dark outside. Still, he couldn't miss the sight of the car pulling off down the street, and stared in confusion. Where was Takashi? Where was his cousin?

He was startled then, by a shifting in the shadows, the distinctive click of wooden sandals on the pavement, and the appearance of a striking woman dressed in elaborate kimono, stepping into the light pooling out from the grocery's front window.

"Um, hello there," Arai said, offering the lady a polite bow. "I'm sorry, but did you happen to see--"  
The woman cleared her throat then, darting him a quick embarrassed glance, and if Arai hadn't been leaning on the door frame, he probably would have fallen right over. That was definitely not a feminine throat-noise he'd just heard.

"Takashi?" he managed, staring at the folds of silk, the delicate swinging hair ornaments, the mass of piled black hair. The makeup, and Takashi's own stoic, longsuffering expression, beneath the makeup.

"Can I come in?" Takashi sighed, dark-lined eyes casting a sidelong glance at the pavement.

Arai floundered briefly for any sort of response, and then simply gave in and stepped back wordlessly, letting the door swing wide, and waving Takashi--his boyfriend, his very definitely masculine boyfriend, furisode kimono and makeup and hair ornaments notwithstanding--into the shop.

"So, um," he said, once Takashi was inside. Then he remembered the door was still open, and turned to close and lock it again. As an afterthought, he drew down the window shade, and slowly turned back around.

"They needed a shamisen player," Takashi said, aiming a faint frown at the floorboards.  
"Ah. I see."  
"And there wasn't time to change. After."  
"Hm," Arai nodded, eying the complicated obi, and all those tucks and folds of patterned silk. He could feel a lot of questions queuing up in his brain, and couldn't imagine asking a single one of them. "Do you er, want some tea, or something?"

Takashi turned a look over his shoulder and blinked wide dark eyes at Arai. The string of white flower buds dangling from his hair brushed the high line of his cheekbone , and what little sense Arai had managed to pull together abruptly scattered like dust. "Yes. Please."

Arai swallowed. "Good. Good, I'll just. Tea. Okay." After an unnecessarily long moment, he recalled that the tea was past Takashi, over in the alcove by the register counter. And after Takashi raised a curious eyebrow at him, Arai forced his legs to move toward it. Hearing the clack-clump of Takashi's geta behind him, Arai was sorely tempted to turn around for another look--how could Takashi even walk with all that fabric twined so snug around him?--but having set his bearings on tea, he was reluctant to get sidetracked again.

**

"I didn't know you played shamisen." It seemed the safest way to break the odd silence which had settled over the card table; Takashi sitting with his knees together, cradling his teacup in his incongruously broad, long-fingered hands. Sitting stiff and straight, Arai realized, because it was the only posture the obi permitted him.

For answer, he got a vague half-shrug. "Not really. I learned a few songs. Long time ago." It was obvious Takashi was uncomfortable, and most likely tired, and Arai felt for him, really he did. But at the same time he couldn't help a tiny smile. Three years together, and Takashi could still surprise him.

"I'm sorry for imposing." Takashi gazed into his teacup, without even a trace of a smile. "Really thought I'd have a chance to change after."  
"Oh," Arai sat forward, feeling a guilty twinge for not catching on sooner. "You want to head home, so you can get changed?" There was no reason at all he should feel even the faintest bit of disappointment over that. Honestly.

But then Takashi shifted minutely in his chair, one of those subtle gestures that would look like squirming on anyone else, and slid his gaze down to his knees. Was it Arai's imagination, or did his lashes seem just the slightest bit thicker and longer than normal? "I was--ah--hoping. Maybe I could change before?"

Arai blinked. He wanted to change here? In the store? But surely he couldn't get out of that outfit by himself. The obi alone looked like a two-person job, and....

Oh, right. Sakura-san was at home. And Kuki-chan, possibly. And even if the two of them could maintain their composure at the sight of Takashi dressed up like this, the old gardener Hito would be amused to no end. Not that he would ever tease, or murmur a single word about his esteemed young master's bizarre predicament. But he would _grin_ , and Arai didn't have to know anything about Takashi's day, to see that he was simply too tired to be grinned at.

Not that couldn't endure it, for Takashi had shown time and again that he could bear up under just about anything, and never so much as blink. But one of the things Arai had promised himself, long ago, was that Takashi wouldn't have to just stand there and endure anymore, if there was anything at all Arai could do to help ease his burden.

On that thought he set aside his teacup and leaned forward, putting a reassuring hand on Takashi's knee. "How about we go upstairs, huh? You can change and relax awhile, before you go home."

Takashi finally looked up and met his gaze, directly for the first time since he'd come in, and the immensity of relief in his eyes was all the agreement Arai needed.

**

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but how did you get all this on?" After shoving the kotatsu off toward the wall to make some space in the apartment's small front room, Arai took a moment to really study the outfit. Now that his dumbfounded surprise had worn off, he realized the kimono really was pretty. Handsome. Whatever. And it had to have been custom made, because it fit Takashi--who was taller and broader in the shoulders than any girl Arai had ever met-- rather nicely.

"Haruhi's father was there. He helped some."  
"Oh?" Arai forced his eyes away from the streak of pale skin just visible at the back of Takashi's neck. "How is Ranka-san?"

"Fine. Mitsukuni helped with the wig. Kaoru and Hikaru did the obi."

"Wow. Team effort, then."  
Takashi sighed, very quietly. "Something like that. Is there somewhere I can put the wig?"

It took considerable care to lift the glossy black wig off, ornaments and all, without crushing it, and Arai was surprised by how heavy it was. Underneath, Takashi's normally disheveled hair was matted with sweat and he straightaway set to scratching at his scalp, like it had been tormenting him for ages. Which it most likely had, Arai realized, and purely out of sympathy he suggested that Takashi might like a bath before he headed home.

"...Or," he added, eyes straying to the long flowered sleeve sliding back down Takashi's forearm, covering up that brief peek of skin, more fascinated than he had any business being, "...You could just stay over. I was gonna make dinner, anyway."

Belatedly, he thought that didn't quite make sense, but something about that kimono was disrupting his logic. He wasn't sure whether it was the fluid drape of the silk, skimming the outlines of Takashi's body, or whether it was the strangeness of the contrast; soft shapes and delicate textures clinging to a sculpted, steel-strong frame.

Arai had admired Takashi in t-shirts and soft-worn denims, and in the fine tailored suits he'd worn with a careless grace all his own--not as if he were stiffly buttoned up into businesslike formality, but more like he could slip free of the garments at any moment, with no effort at all. He had particularly admired Takashi in the dojo, striding about in his kendo-gi and hakama, strong and quick, and absolutely confident. He liked seeing Takashi in traditional clothes, quite a lot in fact. He liked seeing Takashi no matter what he wore, or if he wore nothing at all, and Arai wasn't the least bit embarrassed to admit it, because anyone with eyes could see that Takashi was ridiculously attractive.

But this, he thought, eyes wandering down the long silken curve clinging to Takashi's thigh. This was really something else.

"I think it might have been payback," Takashi said, abruptly breaking Arai's reverie. Which was a good thing, probably.  
"Payback? For what?"

Takashi frowned down at himself, crimson-painted lips pressed together. "The Host Club....used to do cosplays. Sometimes they cross-dressed."  
"So then...." Arai trailed off a moment, not for the first time wishing he could have gone, just once, to visit Takashi at his high school. Judging by the rare stories and offhand comments over the years, Ouran Academy was an unbelievably strange place. "You've done this before?"

But Takashi shook his head. "Not me. Everyone else wore women's costumes. At least once." His mouth twisted up in a wry pout, and Arai had to focus anywhere else but on the red bow-curve of that bottom lip. "Guess they decided it was my turn."

That was undoubtedly Arai's cue to say something supportive. Tell Takashi he didn't have to be embarrassed, it was just a costume, just a favor for his friends, and really he didn't look half-bad at all. Unfortunately, there was this troublesome, irresponsible part of his brain (and really, one would think he would have gotten a grip on that by now), which was currently tangled up over whether he wanted to see Takashi slipping out of all those delicate layers, or figure out some way to keep him in them, for just a little longer. He decided he blamed that weird dilemma, for what came out of his mouth next.

"What's it like?" They both blinked at each other; Arai wondering where the hell _that_ had come from, and Takashi with a look that was initially startled, before narrowing, focusing in on him, catching on at last to Arai's scrutiny.

"It was. Hard to breathe, at first." Now Takashi was watching him, alert in a way he hadn't been just a second ago, and it was only then that Arai noticed his cheeks had been feeling rather warm for awhile. He glanced down at the obi, binding Takashi from his ribs down to his hips, and his face went even warmer.

"Can't really walk in it," Takashi offered slowly, still watching Arai. "Or sit. Kneeling is okay."

It was a shame, Arai thought, through a brief dizzy spell. That Takashi didn't want to wear the outfit home. Because Arai could picture him now, kneeling on the long wooden porch outside his bedroom, those long sleeves and the trailing end of the obi pooling gracefully around him. Sitting straight and quiet, hands folded in his lap. Head bowed, so that tantalizing crescent of bare skin peeked from the back of his collar....

Next thing he knew, he had drifted forward, close enough to pick up the faint tang of cedar, and that warm, clean, familiar scent rising with Takashi's body heat. He watched his hand, reaching for Takashi's arm and then stilled himself. Glancing up to Takashi's eyes--intent and curious, and not at all tired now--for permission to touch. He licked his dry bottom lip, and Takashi's gaze dropped immediately to his mouth.

"Is it....it looks soft."  
"Hm." Takashi shifted forward a fraction, just enough for his sleeve to graze Arai's fingertips, and Arai moved a little closer, trailing one finger down a spray of purple and white leaves--this close, he could appreciate the intricacy of the flowing patterns. He skimmed his palm down the long drape of the sleeve, let the fabric slide whisper-smooth over the back of his hand, and suppressed a shiver.

On the edge of his vision, he saw Takashi's chest rise and fall, and his hand followed his eyes; tracing over the top of the obi, pale gray silk with brilliant orange chrysanthemums embroidered on, up to where the kimono overlapped. Beneath the dark lilac collar was another overlapping layer, a scalloped pattern of white embroidery on white silk. And beneath that, barely visible, was the hollow of Takashi's throat, porcelain-white with the makeup.

Then he pictured Takashi kneeling at that party, an exotic spectacle for a roomful of strangers, and somehow that didn't seem right at all.

"Did they stare?" Arai heard himself ask, feathering a touch across the lower collar, not quite daring to brush the skin beneath. But Takashi drew in a sharp, shallow breath anyway, pale throat working around a swallow.

"Not...not really." His voice was a little hoarse, but warm, and Arai glanced up curiously. Because he would have stared, if he'd been there. He wouldn't have been able to look anywhere else. And Takashi must have understood that, going by the tiny gleam in his eye now, hinting that a smile might be on its way, if Arai was patient. "The guests were all ladies. A few of them liked my hair."

"Ladies." Arai felt the inexplicable loosening of a tension he hadn't known he'd been holding. He let out a breath, and caught the slow spread of Takashi's smile. A smile he only ever shared with Arai, when they were all alone. Arai's hand on Takashi's collar stilled, and he lifted his chin. "What?"

"I just wondered what you were thinking." Takashi looked like he had a pretty good idea already, and Arai wasn't sure he wanted to admit it out loud. But then he hadn't been the one trussed up in a woman's kimono all day, and if it made Takashi feel even a little bit better about the whole thing....well, it shouldn't be too much to ask.

"I was thinking...." he dropped his gaze to the silver cord, knotted at the front of Takashi's obi. "I was thinking I wouldn't like it. If--if there were guys. Staring at you." And god, that twist of jealousy was ridiculous, embarrassing. It wasn't like he owned Takashi, or had any right to feel one way or the other about people looking at him.

He was on the verge of apologizing, saying it was dumb, he knew it. But when he met Takashi's eyes again, all the words fizzled in his dry throat, and all he could think was _oh...._ , because Takashi was staring at _him_ , like maybe he wanted to pin Arai down somewhere and devour him slowly, and that was a sentiment Arai could agree with wholeheartedly.

"If anybody looked at you," he went on, emboldened by those smoldering eyes, "if they thought about touching you." Laying his palms low on Takashi's hips, feeling the silk slipping against warm skin, and heat blooming in his chest, spreading tendrils out through his insides. "I wouldn't like that."

Takashi's eyes were scorching him now, fixed on his every move, and his shallow breaths were coming faster. But he made no move to touch Arai back, holding himself as still as possible, even as Arai's hands grew bolder, sliding up his waist, feeling the stiff layers of the obi compressing his ribs. This close, Arai could feel the tension thrumming in every line of Takashi's body; he could feel how much Takashi wanted to move. He knew full well that Takashi could take over the situation any time he chose; with just a look or a word, he could be freed from his constraints.

And yet he chose not to be. He was leaving it all--quite literally--in Arai's hands, letting him work out this strange new fascination, and a possessiveness he'd never imagined himself harboring before now.

Just to make sure, because Arai would never, never press Takashi into something he didn't want, he brushed the damp strands of hair back from Takashi's temple, and asked, "Is it really uncomfortable? You want to just get all this off?"  
The smile he got was quiet, soft, and then just the least bit sly. "Do you want to help me get it off?"

"Yeah." Arai traced his thumb over Takashi's crimson-painted bottom lip, and gave a small smile back. "Yeah, I really do."

But first, he cupped his hand to Takashi's jaw and kissed him. Just a gentle pressure at first, until Takashi pressed back, with a silent, soft exhale. Arai breathed in, lay another kiss at the corner of Takashi's mouth, let his eyes drift shut, and then flicked the tip of his tongue across Takashi's bottom lip, tasting paint and powder. The shivering breath he got in response made him draw back; this was usually the part where they got carried away, but he didn't want that just yet. Not until he'd sorted out the puzzle of that obi knot, anyway.

Takashi's eyes opened, curious and a little hazy, and Arai smiled. "Should I take this off, first?" He fingered the knot in the silver cord tied around the obi, and Takashi gave a single nod. It came loose easily enough, and Arai slipped his arms around Takashi's waist, feeling for where the cord disappeared into the folds of fabric in back. Pulling it free, he discovered a thick oblong cushion, wrapped in a swath of thinner fabric, and attempted to work that loose as well.

"It's...here, tied in front." Takashi got his hand between them, showing Arai the twists of thin crepe tucked down the front of the obi.  
"Good grief," Arai murmured, pulling out the crepe and untying it. "How many knots are in this thing?"  
Takashi tilted his head, thinking. "Seven? Eight? I lost track." He shifted his weight, trying to turn himself about in the circle of Arai's arms, but Arai stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"It's all right, just stay still," he smiled. "I'll take care of it." He moved around to Takashi's back, pulling the cushion and the crepe sash loose, freeing a long wide fold of the heavier brocade. Lifting it up, he saw where the obi was tied back on itself, and after some tugging and coaxing, got it loose enough to pull the wide end of the obi back through.

He was rewarded by Takashi's breath of sagging relief, and the rest of the brocade slipping loose like the coils of a python, sliding down his hips. Rather than fuss over unwrapping the rest of it, Arai simply tugged it down, past Takashi's knees, so he could step out of it.

"Is that better?" he asked, standing and drawing Takashi back against him, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck.  
"Better," Takashi agreed, seeming content to lean on him for a bit, drawing in long deep breaths, just because he could.

Looking up, Arai spied their dim reflection in the window across the room, and caught his breath at the sight they made together. He watched his hand, slipping beneath the folds of Takashi's collar, as Takashi tilted his head back, exposing his slim white throat.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he murmured. Running a hand down Takashi's side, he found another thin sash and tugged it loose. "Sometimes I look at you....and it's like I can't even think straight." The kimono parted at last, falling open under his hands, revealing the fragile silky garment beneath, and Arai felt his equilibrium tilt over for a second.

Now that the collar was loose, he could press an open-mouthed kiss to Takashi's neck, right where his pulse jumped, tasting skin and salt. Takashi arched his back, letting out a soft hiss, and on that sound, Arai realized he wanted nothing more than to pluck him apart, bit by bit, until he unraveled completely under Arai's hands.

"Do you like this?" He snaked an arm around Takashi's waist, pulling him back snug against his body, trying not to shudder at the teasing pressure against his growing erection. "Do you like knowing what you do to me?"  
He found his answer in Takashi's reflection in the window; shoulders tensed and eyes shut tight, biting back a moan. But that wasn't quite enough.

"You should tell me," he said, very softly, lips barely skimming Takashi's ear. He slid his hand up Takashi's thigh to grasp his hip, clenching the silk in his fingers. "I won't do anything, if you don't like it."

With a phenomenal effort of will, he managed to stay still for almost a minute, letting his breaths fan out over Takashi's neck, just holding him there until Takashi gave in with a gasp and fumbled a grip on his wrist. "Please...."

"Please what?" Arai whispered, so close to shaking with the need to move, to press himself against that hard spot at the base of Takashi's spine, god he wanted that so bad. "You know I'll do whatever you ask."

Takashi let out a desperate bark of a laugh and let his head fall back against Arai's shoulder. "Don't care. Just....please, do anything."

He dragged Arai's hand down, past his waist, to the hard length between his legs, and Arai would swear his throat closed up. He wasn't sure which of them moved first, just that there was a blur and a rush of air, and the next thing he knew, he was straddling Takashi's legs, on the floor and kissing him senseless. It was hot and messy, with their mouths sliding unevenly together and Takashi's hands tugging at his hair, at his shirt, and Arai couldn't contain his groan of pleasure, riding down the silk-smooth curve where Takashi's thigh joined his hip.

He tried yanking blindly at the last sash, where the thin under-kimono was tied, but Takashi's tongue was too distracting, and all his earlier dexterity was gone in a fog of need. The best he could manage, was tugging the garment loose beneath the sash, spreading it apart so he could taste Takashi's skin, smooth and warm and all his at last, and drag his mouth down the trail of dark hair on his chest.

Scooting further down, he caught a glimpse of Takashi's fingernails digging into the rug beneath them, and smiled. "You don't have to be quiet, y'know," he said, before drawing apart the folds of silk below Takashi's waist. He slid his hand up Takashi's thigh, and then in between, guiding his legs apart. "There's nobody else around to hear us."

Takashi drew in a shaky breath, blinked at the ceiling, and then pushed up to his elbows just in time to see Arai tugging his briefs down, and freeing his stiff cock. "You--." That was all he managed, eyes going wide and round as saucers, and Arai chuckled.  
"Me?"

"You don't have to," Takashi got out, but his eyes said, _I am praying to all the gods that you will,_ when Arai curled his fingers around his hard length.  
"I like to," Arai answered, holding Takashi's gaze as he dragged his tongue slowly across the head. Every time he did this, Takashi never failed to look stunned, astounded, and every time it was absolutely worth it. "I want to."

He closed his lips around the shaft, careful to go slow at first, remembering to breathe through his nose and relax his throat. Takashi didn't generally have the patience for teasing; often as not Arai found himself flipped over on his back, laughing as Takashi pinned him down. But over time, he was learning how to keep Takashi helpless, unstrung, for long enough to enjoy the salt-musky taste of him, the heady pleasure of thick flesh pushing against his tongue.

This wasn't something he'd expected to like, when he first worked up the nerve to try it. Being on the receiving end was fantastic, that was a no-brainer, but he'd quickly discovered that kneeling between Takashi's legs, licking and stroking and tasting him, was a phenomenal turn-on as well. Watching Takashi shudder with tension, fighting to keep it together, and then the _sounds_ he made, when he just couldn't anymore; more than once, that had been enough to drive Arai himself over the edge.

At the moment, Takashi was still clinging to his resistance, the tendons in his throat drawn tight with the effort to keep quiet. He had the kimono bunched in his fists, feet shifting restlessly against the rug like he had any hope of digging his heels in. Arai knew he wanted to let go, he needed to, but a person couldn't just turn off a whole lifetime of unbreakable restraint with the flick of a switch, he understood that now.

So he helped, with his tongue pressing the thick vein on the underside of Takashi's shaft, sucking him down, deeper, humming his pure mindless satisfaction at the blunt head pressing the back of his throat. Takashi gasped in a breath, then another, and choked it out in one short, ragged cry that hit the ceiling and melted the marrow in Arai's bones.

Arai drew his mouth up and off, circling Takashi's cock at the base with his fingers. "That's it, let me hear you, it's okay." Taking him in again, slowly deeper this time, one hand cupping the curve of his waist, reading Takashi's body through touch. Every quiver, every breath, the arch and twist of his long muscles, more beautiful than anything Arai had ever seen, and _no one_ else in the whole world got to see this, or touch Takashi like this. It was all his, just for them, and every time Arai realized this, it blew his mind completely.

He closed his eyes, concentrated on the salty slickness in his mouth, the slightest ache in his stretched jaw, finding a rhythm he could work with, down-down-up, bobbing his head as Takashi started coming unstrung around him.

"That--ah. God. Nao--. Ohgod." Hearing his name lost in broken syllables, Arai knew it wouldn't be long now. One hand fumbled in his hair, not to guide him this time, just to touch, and when their forearms brushed--Arai keeping a hand on Takashi's hip, rocking up helplessly now--a lightning-crack of pure blind happiness broke all throughout him. In that moment, he would give his life for Takashi, give him anything, everything; he wanted to see him break apart like fireworks, incandescent, showers of stars tumbling down against the night, and then gather him up again, bit by bit in his hands, in his arms--.

"Please...." A brush of silk against his temple, fingers seeking his nape. "Want you. Naoki." Takashi was breathing like he'd sprinted up a mountainside, his whole body was shaking with it, but still he struggled for coherence. "Want you i--inside me, please."

Arai halted, feeling like he'd just had the breath knocked out of him, even as his whole body was wracked with longing. He lifted his head, Takashi's cock slipping from between his lips, blinking his eyes into focus: Takashi, propped up on one arm, chest gleaming with sweat and lips bitten red and tender. But it was his eyes that got Arai, wide and desperate, dragging the words from his mouth before he even knew it.

"I'm not gonna last that long." He knew it was true, he'd be lucky to get his pants off without exploding, and bloody hell just picturing Takashi, slicked and tight and open for him, was not helping at all.

"Then kiss me." It was a tone that made no judgments and brooked no debate, and Arai couldn't even think before his body moved to obey. He rose forward and Takashi reached for him, pulling him up, their gazes locked together, until Takashi got hold of his shirt, dragging it up and off in one swift move. He went directly for the fastening on Arai's pants next, and before Arai could even pull together the coordination to help, they were sliding down his hips along with his briefs, tugged up and over his raging, aching erection.

At the brush of Takashi's knuckles down the backs of his bare thighs, he collapsed forward, his elbows giving out, burying his face in Takashi's damp neck with a half-swallowed groan.  
"Kiss," Takashi reminded him, rolling to the side so the silk of his sleeve poured down Arai's back, cool and soft as water, tipping Arai's chin up.

"We're gonna make a mess." Arai's brain was well on the way to total shutdown, but it seemed important to put in a word for that lovely kimono, before letting himself go entirely.  
"Don't care, shh." Takashi's mouth was hot, insistent, probing the taste of himself on Arai's tongue, and by some unaccountable miracle, Arai's hand landed on the last knot around the thin, delicate juban.

He even managed to pull the right part, just as Takashi surged against him, and both he and the knot loosened deliciously. From the corner of his eye, he saw the blur of fabric slipping from Takashi's shoulder, and reached out to feel smooth bared skin, hard muscle flexing beneath.

And then Takashi slid his own hand--broad, calloused, and sure--down Arai's ribcage, to his hip, pulling Arai's body flush up against him, and Arai didn't see much of anything after that. He was aware of cloth rippling over his skin, the damp heat of Takashi's body hard against him, kissing with tongues and teeth and needy little moans. When Takashi got his hand between them, holding their cocks together, fingers and palm curled tight, Arai was lost. He was nothing but a bottomless ache of hunger, completely at the mercy of the hands and the friction, and the mouth bruising his lips, his neck, his shoulder. The hunger sharpened to a blazing knot of pleasure, drawing tighter and tighter inside him, until Takashi's body and hand shifted, so good, fucking _exquisite_ , and the knot snapped inside Arai, sudden and violent, loosing a cry from him.

Takashi thrust against him, once, twice, and then curled himself around Arai, quaking against him, more sticky heat spilling between their bellies, and the sound that trickled from his throat shot straight through to Arai's heart and lodged itself sideways there.

**

"Oh. Wow," gasped Arai, when his voice finally came back. He dragged his head up, just enough to see past Takashi's hair, and note the pooling of bright silk safely down around their knees and across the floor, tangled with Arai's trousers. Well that was fine. He let his head drop again, hazy, sticky, and ridiculously sated, content to just lie here awhile with Takashi sprawled across him, catching their breath.

"M'too heavy?" Takashi mumbled to his collarbone, sounding like he couldn't move if his life depended on it.  
"S'fine," Arai mumbled back. He hauled up one weak watery-feeling arm, just to stroke Takashi's hair a bit. Takashi had nice hair. Soft.

"Feeling better now?" Arai said, stretching one leg to get the kink out. Takashi answered with a low rumbling sound, so very like a big lazy cat's purr that Arai had to smile.  
"We should get a bath. Sometime." Hopefully before they both dozed off, Arai thought, though he couldn't yet bring himself to do anything about it. "Get some dinner going. You wanna stay over?"

"Hm," Takashi agreed. Then with some effort, he pushed himself up, just enough to look down at Arai, eyes sleepy and calm, and that's when Arai knew for certain that he was fine, now. Everything was all right.

"Thank you," he said quietly, holding Arai's gaze, holding Arai's heart, his whole life, in his soft dark eyes.  
"Thank your cousin," said Arai, unable to keep a broad grin from surfacing. "Bet you a thousand Yen he plotted it."

Takashi frowned a little and tipped his head, considering, and then sank back down on Arai's chest. "It was a troublesome plot. I'd rather thank you."  
Arai chuckled and let it go, content to stroke Takashi's hair a little more. "Well then you're welcome. Any time."

 

**

A few weeks later, Arai received a thick weighty parcel in the mail. He read the card, inspected the contents, and then wasted no time phoning Mitsukuni-san.

"I just thought I should make sure this uh--wasn't a mistake," Arai explained.  
"Did you try it on?" asked Mitsukuni, and even over the long-distance line Arai would _swear_ he was beaming with mischief. "Hikaru and Kaoru took a guess at the measurements, but their eye hasn't failed yet."

"I'm scared to ruin it," Arai confessed. He'd taken the garments out of the box, and seeing what they were, folded them right back up again as neatly as he could. It had to be some mistake; clothes like this cost a fortune. And he'd never even worn hakama before. He'd never in his whole life needed to.

"Of course you won't ruin them," said Mitsukuni. "You got the book in there too, right? It has pictures, for how to put it on."  
"Ah, Mitsukuni-san." Arai closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling perilously close to doom, here. "Why, um. I'm sorry, really. This is all so nice....but what is it for?"

"Hm, well." Mitsukuni paused and Arai waited. "I felt badly, that Takashi had to do that Host Club party, and you couldn't make it."  
"Okay..."

"And I'd thought Takashi might return his kimono, since he wouldn't want to be bothered with it. But he didn't."  
"Oh," said Arai, thinking _oops_. It hadn't occurred to either of them, that anyone would notice if Takashi kept it. Purely for sentimental reasons, since it couldn't exactly be worn in public ever again. Not to mention that it was insanely time-consuming to put on.

"Soooo, I thought," ventured Mitsukuni, and Arai decided it was all right to go ahead and start cringing now. "I thought maybe it was....ah....not so bad, maybe."  
Thank God they were talking on the phone, so Mitsukuni couldn't see him cover his eyes with one hand, right above his tomato-red cheeks.  
"Oh," Arai repeated, completely at a loss.

"Anyway," Mitsukuni went on, sounding eager to get this part over with, "Takashi likes traditional clothes. And I know we put him to a lot of trouble. So I thought he _might_ like...um. Something different? I thought it might be a nice surprise for him."

A surprise. Arai drew back and looked at the phone receiver, then stared at the box of silk and wool (men's hakama and kimono, with a matching silk haori jacket. Narrow silk obi, tabi and geta), and the little instruction book, still laying on his nightstand.

Then he got it. And heaven help him, he grinned.

"This was really generous, Mitsukuni-san," he said. "And I promise I'll take care of it all."  
"Think of it like a Christmas present," Mitsukuni answered brightly, no doubt thrilled he didn't have to explain anything further. "For you and Takashi!"

 

After the call was over, Arai sank to his bed, gave the box yet another once over, and laughed until he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

"Christmas," he chuckled, to the empty room. Well, if he started practicing now, maybe he'd be ready to wear it by then. Not that it was anywhere near so complicated as what Takashi had been dragged into, but if Takashi did in fact like the outfit, he had a feeling it would be well worth any amount of trouble.

And on that thought, he took up the booklet, and began to study it thoroughly.

 

**end**


End file.
